


Your Honour (I Must Confess)

by Kaiwren



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Due to Use of a Child Soldier, Gen, Guess who got MURDERED!, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Therapy is expensive so I write instead, alan blunt dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiwren/pseuds/Kaiwren
Summary: The officer checked for onlookers, and quickly ducked into the public bathrooms, rifling through their pockets for a twenty pence piece as they walked in. Ducking into a stall, they pulled out the phone.BLUNT DEAD. The display read. SNIPER BULLET TO LEFT FOREHEAD, HIS BACKDOOR OF PERSONAL RESIDENCE. DO NOT RESPOND.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 77





	Your Honour (I Must Confess)

**Author's Note:**

> Triggers: the smallest blood mention.  
>  Murder that is seen as morally correct.  
>  Technically Legal Murder (Clause Sevens)

A silent but powerful repetitive vibration buzzed against the officers’ leg, in a hidden pocket destined to hold the one satellite smartphone it held. It was not their public work phone. It was not even on the books, even when one included “the books” that, legally speaking, didn’t exist. 

The officer checked for onlookers, and quickly ducked into the public bathrooms, rifling through their pockets for a twenty pence piece as they walked in. Ducking into a stall, they pulled out the phone.

BLUNT DEAD. The display read. SNIPER BULLET TO LEFT FOREHEAD, HIS BACKDOOR OF PERSONAL RESIDENCE. DO NOT RESPOND.

The phone vibrated once more as another message arrived. DESTROY PHONE. DISPOSE OF MEMORY CARD.

One more noise rang out, and the final message lit up. THANK YOU. GOOD LUCK.

The officer blinked once, dropping their head to their chest for the slightest second, before a resolute expression crossed their face. They pried their SD slot open, extracted the tiny card within, and snapped it. Then, they threw it into the toilet and flushed it. Unwittingly, the officer echoed many others as they took the exact same precautions, one by one, snapping memory cards in hidden, anonymous places.

Messages disappeared, permanently, as the heavily encrypted, private system they’d devised was destroyed. Normally, one could recover messages, but if it was not recorded, or hosted on a system that didn’t exist, they could not be saved. The destruction of just one chip would have been enough to cripple the entire communication network, after all. Few risks had been permitted to exist. 

The officer, (as did many others,) slipped the phone back into the hidden pocket, exited the public Trafalgar Square loos, and took a meandering, seemingly directionless path to Embankment Pier. It took a few, heart-stopping minutes to walk there, but who would bring a car for a short excursion? No true Londoner, that’s for sure. The officer would not dare diverge from convention until the phone could similarly be disposed of. 

Finding a place along the pier devoid of surveillance devices of all types from varying agencies, the officer subtly pulled the phone from their pocket and cracked it in two, revealing the sensitive electronics inside.

With another anxious glance around and a deep breath, the officer slipped the two pieces over the side of the pier, letting it land with a soft splash into the muck of the Thames. The white water quickly hid the phones travel, but in its place- ever so close to the ships props- the phone would never be found.

Nor would any of its siblings, many sent into rivers, but others into the ocean, the English Channel, and even one burnt up in a sudden ‘test’ of Thermite stocks. 

The officer turned their back to the river, heading straight for Charing Cross Station. They would wait until summoned by GCHQ. No doubt much of Six would be interrogated about the death of Blunt.

He was not liked. He was feared, not respected. 

He had no living family, blood, marriage or otherwise.

No one to miss or mourn him.

Walking through the station, Oyster card quickly slid against the scanner, the officer prepared to catch the tube. Their card history and photo would be a useful alibi for them. 

The officer smiled. 

Blunt was dead, and he could never hurt Six or themself again. Despite the cold and windy air, it was not a bad day.

———-

The next day, an agency-wide text message came over their work phones. This time, it was an on-the-books, above board phone, but was no less important for that.

The display- ever so similar to the other, unmentionable phone- bore just one text. REPORT TO OFFICES. BRING ID. EMERGENCY SITUATION HAS OCCURRED. INVESTIGATION ONGOING. REPORT TO NORMAL WORK OFFICES IMMEDIATELY.

In a similar display of synchrony to the one the previous texts had inspired, officers rose, collecting sidearms, special office-jackets, leather briefcases and paperwork. They headed to London taxis, to personal cars, and finally to the tube. Though their transports varied, their objectives were all identical- Royal and General Bank, headquarters of the Special Operations branch of British foreign intelligence, Military Intelligence Six.

Alex was the first to reach the Royal and General- unusual, perhaps, for the average fifteen year old boy, but Alex had never been permitted to be average, and so had a habit of being a light sleeper and a morning person. He rode in on a foldable bicycle after exiting the tube, and went straight to the office he, his father, and his uncle had all claimed as theirs. Aside from his personal work desk, he’d added another desk and two more comfortable chairs. He sling himself over the comfortable chair as he started filling in the tedious paperwork. 

The paperwork was marked C7.

The next was Crowley. Despite their somewhat cold beginning, Alex had begun to warm up to him, asking questions about his Uncle Ian and about Crowley in general. This particular day, Crowley had deviated from his typical grey suit, to a black one with a white undershirt and solid black tie. Respectful, to be certain, but also a bit impersonal- it was precisely the type of suit that would blend in anywhere, from a coffee shop to a CEOs meeting. He too, walked into the office that had once belonged to his dear colleague Ian and pulled a similar stack of paperwork towards himself. However, instead of the comfy spare seats, he chose to sit at the spare desk- ignoring the mild glare Alex had shot at him.

Surprisingly, the third man to join their ranks in the room was Smithers. He was still in his permanent disguise, but had left his customary electronics in his own workshop. He too, was in a black suit. It felt as if they were all planning for a funeral- for themselves or solely Blunt would depend on how well their plan played out. 

As Smithers sat at the desk, he spoke. “I have already filed my paperwork. I suppose that Ben will be the one to not file a C7?”

“Yep.” Alex confirmed solemnly. “He’s going to arrive in a few minutes. Cossack will be dropping off a package to claim Blunts’ death at twelve-thirty, so we have three hours to file all this, get taken into interrogation, and put a few bees in their bonnet before we all get put on lock down.”

Crowley looked up. “Derek, if you’ve already filed yours, will Internal Affairs be able to see if it was filed first?”

“No!” Smithers chuckled. “I have it in a time delay. So long as you file yours and put it in the system by ten-thirty, they will all show the same timestamp. It’s not like I didn’t write the codes for the entire system myself.”

Crowley nodded, and returned to the paperwork. He was nearly done, anyway, as he’d taken to having different pieces of paperwork half filled out in the interests of paranoia and preparation. He’d advised Alex to do the same, but suspected that it would end up being done on the fly. Looking over prepared would look a little suspicious for Alex. There were disadvantages to being fifteen, after all. 

Ben ambled in, collapsing onto the large leather seat behind Alex’s main desk, and sighed. Unlike the others, he did not rush to fill out paperwork, but simply watched them amusedly. “Need any help?”

Crowley shook his head, and Alex waved him off. “Nah. I'm just writing out signatures right now, anyway.”

“Okay, then.” Ben leaned the chair back, and out his feet on the polished wood of his desk. 

“Put your feet down!” Alex snapped.

“Ugh, fine.” Ben groaned like a child. “Why me? Why can’t I relax?”

“My dear boy,” Smithers began. “Have you been listening to the plans?”

“Oh, yeah.” Ben shrugged, and started tapping on his phone screen. 

“Yes!”

“What?” The three adults turned to look at their youngest member.

“I’m done!” Alex proclaimed, raising the large stack of paperwork proudly.

“Already?” Crowley groaned. “How?” 

“I’ve been forging Uncle Ian’s stuff for years, Crowley.” Alex said. “I’ve gotten quite good at copying handwriting. Almost like it’s my job.”

“Of course.” Crowley huffed, before signing one more signature with a flourish and elegantly placing his pen to the side. “Shall we upload these, then?”

“Immediately is best, old chap.” Smithers pulled Alex’s computer towards himself, pulling up the page to input the paperwork onto the database. “Put those through the scanner, won’t you, Alex?”

“Sure.”

“Excellent, excellent…” Smithers muttered under his breath as he tapped away at the computer. “Now, Crowley, your turn.”

Crowley carefully ran his paperwork through the scanner one by one, before handing his stack to Ben. “Your turn, buddy.”

“Aight.” Ben carefully slid them into a file by his hand, and took off towards the secure filing cabinets, skeleton key in hand. He would place the papers in the correct, backdated archive, which would most likely be checked as soon as they were taken into interrogation. Hopefully, they would provide enough of a cover before everything went down so they weren’t immediately burnt.

“What time is it now?” Alex asked the room as Ben headed off. 

“Ten-forty. Scotland Yard and IA will be finishing up with the lower levels soon, which means that they’ll reach ours in about fifteen minutes. Fox just needs to get back by then, and we’ll be in the clear. Remember, the order is Crowley, myself, you, and then Ben, alright?” Smithers said.

“Yeah, so they’ll get Ben right as Cossack sets off the alarms?”

“Pretty much, that's what we’re aiming for.” Crowley interjected. 

“Okay, I got it.” Alex said, picking at the hem of his shirt. He knew he shouldn’t be doing it right then, but well- it’s not like he wasn’t about to take one of the biggest gambles of his life. He might as well let it out before going into the bowels of Six, where interrogation rooms- both normal and… enhanced, were located. The holding cells were also on the same floor, behind two doors, three sets of clearances, and individual cells for each prisoner. Alex flattened his palms against the arms of his chair, and counted his breaths for a moment.

Alex’s eyes brightened, and a maniac light entered them as his work-persona flitted over his face, calming his nerves and settling him down. Cub smiled at Smithers. “We’ll succeed, just watch.”

“Of course.” Smithers affirmed, smiling gently down at Cub. 

The door clicked behind Cub, and the three spun to check who it was.

Ben nodded, and grinned. “It’s done.”

“Phew!” Smithers exclaimed, wiping his brow. “I haven’t done anything so dangerous since I joined this outfit!”

“You mean when you were conscripted from a juvie jail cell?” Crowley remarked. 

He was not answered.

“Rude.” Crowley muttered, even as a knock sounded on the door. 

The door swung open without even so much as a say-so from the occupants of the room, but the people standing at the doorway needed no invitation. After all, the four officers served at her pleasure. 

Mrs. Jones, an Internal Affairs officer, and a detective from Scotland Yard stood just outside, looking into the room at its occupants- two men dressed smartly, in black suits, another in simple jeans and a cardigan, while the last, merely a boy stood there in battered sneakers, a jumper, and old, holey jeans. The detective and officer looked at the boy, and then took a second look. They blinked rapidly, and began to have a third look at him.

“You can take a photo-it’ll last longer. I do exist, you know. I’m not a mirage, except on alternate Mondays.” Alex remarked, annoyed by their obvious interest in him. Really! They could at least try to hide it. Staring is just plain rude.

“Err…” the detective began.

“Officer Rider.” Mrs. Jones nodded at Alex, but didn’t otherwise falter at the others’ conduct. “There has been an incident, and so we’re questioning everyone possibly involved, understand?” She paused for a second, before turning to Crowley. “Officer Crowley, if you would come with us first?” It was not a request.

Crowley followed the trio into the interrogation room, nervous despite himself. He sat quickly at the indicated seat, and waited as the others seated themselves on the other side of the cold steel table.

“Ma’am.”

“Officer Crowley,” Mrs. Jones began. “Are you aware of why you have been brought for questioning? You are, of course, aware of your right to silence.”

“Of course ma’am, although I am unsure of the purpose of this interrogation.” Crowley replied.

“Blunt is dead, officer, and your section is the only group to deal with this sort of- unpleasantness- in our agency currently.”

Crowley nodded, his palms filling with sweat. Although they’d already planned out the whole day, the timing and orders of interrogation- admitting to killing your boss was hard, even if you had all the correct paperwork filled out to clear you of any charges or even mere implication in the scheme. “Ma’am, I.. Ma’am, why are we having this discussion? Was there unacceptable collateral damage?”

“What- what are you implying, Crowley? There was no mission.” Jones looked aghast at her officer, unsure of how a simple inquiry into an assasination had implicated one of her most trusted.

Crowley creased his brow, and inflected his voice just so. “Of course there was, Acting Director Jones. I received the orders a fortnight ago- reasoning COBRA gave me was that Blunt had become troublesome and untrustworthy. A liability, if you would.”

“What orders!” She screeched.

“Ma’am, I was ordered to have Director Blunt eliminated, and was given one month and access to one million pounds of governmental dark money to make it happen. I did so.” Crowley smirked behind his mask. “I had about seventy thousand pounds left in the account, as well, as I’d managed to put it out on one of the networks.”

Mrs. Jones sputtered incoherently, insisting that she'd been unaware even as the other two investigators awkwardly glanced around the room.

“Perhaps we should interview the other suspects before we consider this new information?” The Scotland Yard detective, dressed in a navy blue off rack suit with a small flag pinned in the corner of it, suggested. Nodding, the trio walked out of the interrogation room, the lock clicking shut behind them.

“Dammit.” Crowley looked around the bare room, empty except for the bolted-down chairs and similarly secured table. No water, no bathrooms, no blankets. Brilliant, he was stuck there until he was let out.

Or well, Jones assumed. 

Crowley thumbed a small pen from his pocket, a grin taking over his face. Smithers had always been great at skipping the special equipment to them just in time. He would be safe. Crowley checked the face of his watch. If it suddenly flashed, he’d be responsible for getting his own self out.

Ben, Alex, and Smithers all raised an eyebrow at the investigators as they stumbled back in. They were all quite pale, and Mrs. Jones seemed to be bearing the brunt of the others’ side glares and suspicion. Perhaps this little… episode… would teach her a little bit about running an outfit such as theirs. Namely, don’t assume someone is your man just because they Sir and Ma’am you.

Ben rose as they walked through the doorway. “Am I to assume that I am next for questioning?”

Alex hissed at the risk they were taking, having Ben volunteer when he was the only one without an alibi or covers. If Ben was chosen now, it could throw off their entire plan. And put Ben in danger!

“Not as of yet, Officer Fox.” Mars. Jones turned to Smithers. “If you would please accompany us for an interview?”

“Of course, Acting Director Jones.” Smithers stood with a soft groan, trying to emphasize his age with the director. He wasn’t fond of any of that handcuff nonsense, or the overly invasive searches corrections officers seemed to think they were entitled to give. It’d been many years since his stint in juvie, but he’d never forget those cold nights, nor his cellmates screaming at night. Smithers never intended on doing anything to possibly end up back in that place, but, places and agencies like Six have a habit of grinding down moral compasses until they could be used for a demonstration of magnetic dust- always clinging to the strongest presence available, regardless of morality.

———-

Smithers walked behind Jones through the long, identical hallways, flanked by both detectives. They stalled at an unmarked door. It was nearly identical to every other door in the row of rooms they’d passed, and Smithers noted the location. Most likely, Crowley was behind one close to him, maybe even behind the wall. The thought gave him little reassurance though; the click of the lock behind him as he walked into the interrogation room made him fully aware of the little hope he had of being let out without permission from the Head.

“Officer Smithers, please, sit down.” The Scotland Yard detective entreated. Smithers complied with a jovial smile, eager to appear guiltless in front of the officers' suspicion. “Oh, it’s Technician, please- I’m not field, usually.”

“Right, then,” Jones began. “You are, of course, familiar with your right to silence and all that entails in a court of law?” It was not so much as a request as a confirmation; Smithers, like the best technician and officers, kept an eye on any legislation that could impact them and their work- and detailed plans of how to get around them.

“Of course, ma’am.” Smithers took a deep breath, and decided to get the old mess over with as soon as possible. “Am I to assume that this meeting is regarding the most recent solo operation I had been assigned?”

Mrs. Jones’ complexion suddenly paled. “What mission, Smithers?”

“Elimination of a rogue Director, ma’am.” Smithers replied delicately. “I received special permissions to utilize the prototype drones, as well. I will admit, I was a bit surprised that COBRA would assign me a temporary C7 over Alex’s BlackOps section- don’t they have permanent C7s backdated?”

“What- What is this about?” The Scotland Yard detective asked, face purpling from anger. “Permanent backdated C7s? Explain, Technician- and then explain your drone.”

“Officers Rider, Daniels, and Crowley form a separate section of MI6 that deal with immediate international threats to the Crown on a regular basis, and so the foreign secretary decided to create paperwork that complied with Clause Seven, which permits them to use many and all available options in order to fulfill the mission brief. In addition, although they technically answer to the Director, whomever that may be, they have been sent on missions prior to the Head’s knowledge or consent. It’s a unique situation, I believe, but favoured by the current PM.” Smithers waved his hand airily. “Plausible deniability, and all,the PMs only care about poll numbers.” Smithers blinked his eyes slowly as he paused for a second. “The drone was an experimental design for long range removal of enemy combatants. It could fire from the air, or land for more stability, I am quite proud of it, snipers might even be made redundant in a few decades-“

“Get to the point!” Mrs. Jones hissed.

“Okay!” Smithers yelled desperately. “I used a prototype drone to shoot Blunt due to clause seven orders co-signed by the Domestic and Foreign secretaries!”

Mrs. Jones gritted her teeth, looking away from the anxious technician. 

“I didn’t have a choice!” Smithers protested fearfully. “They ordered me to do it and I couldn’t refuse… and… and… I don’t like killing! You know that! But Blunt had been going too far, so I, I just sent a drone after him!”

“Smithers…” Mrs. Jones gritted out. “Just, just shut up, please.”

“Errr, yes ma’am.” Smithers complied, ending his rambling at her word.

“Good.” Acting Director Jones slammed her hands on the table as she shot up to stand, walking out imperiously. The door shut behind the investigators with a loud clang.

At least he wasn’t chained up, Smithers thought to himself. Nothing like his last experience.

———-

The three stood dumbfounded outside the grey steel doors of the interrogation chambers. The Scotland Yard and IA investigators eyed Acting Director Jones carefully, unsure of her loyalties. She had, after all, gained power after her agents assassinated her predecessor. 

Huffing loudly, Jones turned to one of the agents who had helped escort Smithers to interrogation. “Order one of the Q branch to check the online records for any recent C7s authorized for Former Director Blunt, or any target of a similar stature or alias close enough to be him.”

“Yes ma’am.” The black coated, mousy haired agent said, quickly marching away from their angered bosses. 

Jones stared down the other officers, uncaring of their attitude towards her. She had bowed her head, jumped whenever Blunt asked her to, accepted his orders regardless of legality- and this was how she was replayed for her loyalty? With whispers and suspicion? Whatever.

The officers could believe whatever they desired; they would soon know why the Grey Man of MI6 had chosen her as his successor. 

The agent- she should really pay more attention to the mid level ranks, Tulip mused, but most of them were so hide-bound to the rules they seemed incapable of engaging in any of the usual office power plays. The agent tiptoed back in, as if she'd already summoned the firing squad. A few files were clutched in his hand, all marked with the customary Top Secret marks. 

Tulip’s stomach twisted at the appearance of those files. It couldn’t be! Clause Seven orders didn’t just appear in the stacks overnight- there was a process involved, meetings after meeting, each and every death had to be as officially sanctioned as a black ops unit could come to sanctioned.

But nonetheless the officer carefully slipped the files onto the desk in front of her as if they were in the midst of EOD training. Mrs. Jones stuck out a single, shaking finger to flip the page over. Her jaw dropped, and she looked away, blinked her eyes quickly. 

Steadying herself, she refocused, and quickly scanned the document, skipping the winding legalese. She looked up, resignedly. “Fetch Agent Rider. And Daniels! Now!” She yelled, fear and anger overdoing her immaculately emotionless facade. The agent scurried away, glad to finally escape her presence.

———-

Alex and Ben poked their heads in cautiously, before being hustled into the room by the anxious dogsbody agents, the detectives following behind, confused by Jones’ sudden outrage.

“Ma’am?”

“In, Daniels, and you too, Rider.” Jones glared at them, before slamming her hand onto the paperwork in front of her. “God dammit, what is this mess?!”

“I- “ Ben began.

“I completed the mission that I was assigned.” Alex interrupted. “Ma’am.”

“Well, I bloody well know that!” She hissed. “But why? Without my authorization, too!”

“Acting Director Jones, if this is regarding Former Director Blunt, it was me. I’d had enough of his disregard for basic rights. Children, Jones! He forced children into service!” Ben crossed his arms, trying to hide the panic slowly eating away at his lungs.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Ben,” Alex snorted. “It was obviously me- Ben couldn’t hit a target with an L118A1 even if it was pinned to the barrel.”

“What-“ Jones looked between them with a perplexed grimace. “What the hell, you two?”

“Well, I missed you once, so I thought I might as well perfect my aim. When the orders came down, I accepted quite happily. Not every day you get to kill your abuser, you know.” Alex leaned forward, eyes flashing with rage. “And everyone who used me as a child- all of you- that’s what you fucking well are.”

“Alex- I- we-“ Jones stammered incoherently. “It was- it was a difficult situation!”

“Yeah. For me.” Alex retorted. “Fourteen, dear fucking lords, I was fourteen! Barely a teen!”

Suddenly, a panicked agent ran into the room. “Ma’am- Direc- Acting Director, ma’am,” 

“Out with it, for chrissakes!” She screeched.

“Cossack, Ma’am, in the lobby- he said he killed Blunt!” 

Jones’ face drastically paled, before she glared at Ben and Alex. “Out! Everyone but you two.” She glared at them again, before sweeping out of the room, lock clicking shut behind her.

Alex flicked his eyes over the bare room and turned to Ben. “Never thought I’d have a cell buddy in solitary, you know.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Arse. Just wait. Wonder if Jones’ll give herself a heart attack with all the stress?”

Alex tilted his head, “Nah, she runs off of spite and the suffering of others, she’ll be fine.” 

“More’s the pity.”

———

The innocuous little brown cardboard box sat just inside the Bank’s doors, the slightest bit damp due to the everpresent clouds. One side bowed outwards, inching ever so closer to collapsing as the cardboard neared surrender. A small robot rolled towards the box, a camera clipped to an arm positioning itself over the open top. A shout rang out as a person behind bullet proof glass stalled the robot. 

A wavering image appeared over a small screen, and the agents gasped. 

In the box sat one bullet chasing, a broken down rifle, and a handkerchief coated in browning blood.

———-

Alex strode out of the bank confidently, hiding his slight flinch at the suns’ harshness. He shot a grin at the newly bearded man beside him. “So, how was your foray into treason?”

Ben grinned. “No razors, tiny cells, nonexistent civil rights and privacy…. would do again.”

Alex snorted, just a little bit, just as a black SUV pulled up in front of him. 

Men in BDUs glared through the glass, and Alex groaned. He wasn’t sure if it was for the covertly cliché government car, or the thought of going back to hell. “I never signed up for this!” He hissed.

Ben grimaced back. “We got sent back for retraining, Cub, it’s either this or find ourselves another new head.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Alex tilted his head in consternation. “Do you think Crowley would be interested?”

A bouncing Eagle lunged out of the car, grabbing the small bags they’d kept in Six’s cells and throwing the trunk. “Let’s goooooooooooo!”

“I don’t think so.” Ben muttered to Alex as he slid into the back of the SUV. “Have you thought of asking Smithers?”


End file.
